


make it whole, make it better than it was before

by redheartglow



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25274194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheartglow/pseuds/redheartglow
Summary: Even and Isak in Trondheim: twenty-one moments from a year in the life.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Comments: 33
Kudos: 115





	make it whole, make it better than it was before

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glueface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glueface/gifts).



> for Girardi, with love and squalor. i hope this makes up for the six dollars i owe you.
> 
> (please see end notes for specific content warnings and other notes.)

> _oh, stand in front of me_  
>  _painted gold, and coming on home_  
>  _and bring that summer sun_  
>  **—hey rosetta!, “[kintsukuroi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhZ2wKf3QOY)"**

**one.**

They’ve only been in their new apartment in Trondheim for three days, boxes still mostly half-full and spilling everywhere. It’s small but gets good sunlight, a modest one bedroom that’s only slightly larger than their former studio apartment, and the curtains tacked up by the landlord—sheets more than anything—aren’t even yellow. But the rent is cheap and the building is within walking distance to the tram that takes them directly to the university campus, and it’s _theirs_ , so that’s more than okay.

From where they’re sprawled across their Ikea couch after struggling for most of an afternoon to put it together, Isak, half under Even, suddenly asks, “Do you miss Oslo?”

Even’s mostly distracted by the way the late afternoon sun filters through the flimsy curtains, how it catches the blond of Isak’s hair. He wonders if there’s a way to capture that in a short film one day. “Do you?”

“l’ll miss the boys. Eskild and Linn and Sana. Eva, too.” Even feels more than sees Isak’s shrug. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you homesick? Do you miss your parents? _Your_ boys?

“Sure,” Even says. “But both my mom and Elias have each already called twice, so that’s not so bad. I haven’t had time to miss them.”

Isak sort of hums in acknowledgement, and pushes gently at Even to dislodge him so they can both sit up.

Even nudges his shoulder against Isak’s, missing the contact already. “Besides,” he continues. “How could I possibly be homesick? My home is anywhere you are.”

Isak turns to stare at him for a moment before dissolving into laughter. “Seriously? Sorry, remind me which one of us is gay?”

Even starts laughing as well. “I was trying to be romantic! Are you even allowed to say that anymore?”

“I don’t know,” Isak says, still laughing. “Maybe all I meant was that I forgot what my sexuality was for a moment. You don’t know my life.”

“I do know your life,” Even declares. “I know that you’re gay for my dick.”

Isak eyes him, still mirthful. “That’s true,” he says, shifting again to straddle Even’s lap. “I’m very gay for your dick.”

“Well, that’s sorted then. Glad I could help,” Even says, his arms snaking around Isak’s back to pull him in closer for a kiss, and then another one.

(“I did mean it though,” Even says, later, that night, in the dark.

“Hmm?” Isak sounds already half-asleep, his head pillowed on Even’s chest, arm slung over Even’s body like a possessive goblin, though the summer heat’s too much for them to be sleeping so close together.

“You’re my home,” Even says. It should be scary, how easily that comes out of his mouth; scarier still, how much he realizes he means it. But here, right now, with Isak wrapped around him, Even is not afraid of anything.)

**two.**

“I think we should buy more condoms,” Even says.

Isak’s glad that there’s something taking up half of his attention at the moment, moving their sheets and towels from the washer to the dryer, equally glad there’s no one else in their building’s laundry room but the two of them at the moment, since this is apparently where Even’s decided to start this particular conversation. “Okay. Why?”

“Just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Isak presses the start button on the dryer and then leans back against it to look at Even. “Are you...planning to sleep with someone else?”

“No!” Even exclaims. “I wouldn’t plan to do that!”

Isak watches him for a moment, thinking. How they usually keep condoms in the bedside drawer of Isak’s side of the bed, but more often than not don’t reach for them anymore. How they ran out last week and cheerfully ignored that fact because their relationship’s been exclusive and monogamous, neither of them interested in an alternate arrangement, at least to the best of Isak’s knowledge. He can’t think of what might have changed between then and now. He takes a moment to consider it carefully, slowly begins to put the pieces together.

“Are you...worried that you might sleep with someone else, like if you were manic?” Isak finally guesses, almost proud at how fluent he is at translating Even Bech Næsheim these days.

When Even lowers his eyes to look down at his feet, scuffing his shoes a bit on the ground, Isak knows that he’s hit on the right answer and sighs. Tries to diffuse the situation: “You know that’s a very incorrect stereotype, right? Like, just because you’re pansexual doesn’t mean you’re going to try and sleep with anyone and everyone who consents. I know that. We both know that.”

“I know this is completely irrational,” Even mumbles. He shrugs. “But it’s just...something I’ve been thinking about, I guess.”

Isak sighs again. “Did you talk to your therapist about it?” When Even nods and looks a little miserable about it, Isak continues, “What did she say?”

“Probably the same thing you’re going to say. That my mania isn’t a personality transplant. But also that I should talk to you about it if it’s something I’m worried about,” Even says.

Isak thinks about this, mulling it over; swallows down his own discomfort and jealousy in the moment because this isn’t about him. Looks at Even, really looks at him, the blue of his eyes, the swoop of his hair, the unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear. “Would it make you feel better if we were more careful about using condoms all the time?”

Even nods, still looking at the ground.

Isak gently reaches over to tilt Even’s chin up until their eyes are meeting again. “Okay. Then we’ll just have to buy a lot of condoms.”

Even looks a little surprised. “That’s it?”

Isak shrugs. “That’s it. I don’t wanna have less sex, so if we’re only doing it with condoms, we’re going to have to buy a lot of condoms,” he says, matter-of-factly.

Even stares at him for a long moment with something that’s almost akin to wonder. “How are you just so okay with this?” he asks, his voice steadier now. “You’re so… _good_.”

Isak shrugs again, a little uncomfortable with the overt compliment not steeped in playfulness or irony. “I trust you. But if there’s something I can do to make things easier or give you one less thing to worry about? Of course I’d do it. It’s like no effort at all.”

When Even’s smile comes back as he seems to process Isak’s words, Isak can’t help but think about how it’s like the sun coming out again. “So you’re okay with us going to the store after this to buy some condoms so you can fuck me on the clean sheets tonight?” Even asks, full-on grinning now.

Isak nods vigorously. “That’s a very good plan. I love this plan,” he says, and doesn’t even mind that this will just amount to having to do laundry again tomorrow if it means having Even underneath him on their bed, happy and beautiful and sated.

_Worth it_ , he thinks.

**three.**

Even’s about a quarter of the way through _Australia_ during his annual Baz Lurhman filmography re-watch when the front door opens loudly, Isak sweeping in like a grouchy hurricane, kicking the door shut behind him and leaving a trail of backpack and outside clothes in his wake. He drops the plastic bag of takeout containers on the coffee table and dramatically throws himself on the couch beside Even, who dodges an errant elbow with practiced ease.

Without bothering to pause the film, he tries not to smile as Isak slouches over until his head’s in Even’s lap. “Are we having kebab for dinner?” Even asks, carding a hand through Isak’s hair without missing a beat.

“Yeah,” Isak says. “Yours has extra sauce so you should eat it before it gets too soggy.”

Russell Crowe monologues on the screen as Even can’t help but finally laugh. “I would, but I sort of have a lap full of boyfriend right now so I might end up dropping meat all over his face, and not even in a sexy way.”

“Was that supposed to be a dick joke? Did you literally just make a joke about slapping me in the face with your dick?" Isak asks incredulously.

“I have never once joked about dick in my entire life, how dare you,” Even says.

Isak huffs, but he does sit up to root around the plastic bag to pull out two orders of kebabs and hands the heftier, soggier one over to Even.

They eat in silence for a moment, as, on screen, the camera pans across the Australian Outback.

“What’s wrong?” Even finally asks, chasing a piece of errant meat with his fork.

Isak sighs, staring forelonely at his own half-eaten dinner. “I think I’m going to have to drop out of school. I’m not smart enough. Everyone else is going to soon figure out that I don’t know anything about anything.”

Even is 90% sure that Isak’s not completely serious about dropping out, so he decides that playing along might be the best course of action for now. “What are you gonna do instead?”

“I don’t know. Become a troll, move under a bridge, and scare goats who try to cross it?”

“I don’t think that’s an actual job,” Even says, trying to sound sympathetic.

“You’re not being very supportive right now,” Isak grumbles. There’s a bit of sauce on the corner of his mouth.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. How can I be more supportive?” Even asks, reaching over to gently wipe away the sauce on Isak’s mouth with his thumb.

Isak makes a face in response. “You could become really rich and then bankroll both of our lives with your millions?” he suggests.

Even laughs at that, moves his hand so he’s cupping Isak’s face instead. “Or I can remind you that you hold yourself up to a really high standard, and that you’re scary smart, and that I know you’re gonna do great even if it’s intimidating right now.”

Isak rolls his eyes at that, ducking away from Even’s hand and goes back to his dinner.

“Why are you rolling your eyes at me?” Even says playfully. “I’m right!”

“Stop saying nice things!” Isak protests around a mouthful of kebab. “I’m trying to feel sorry for myself!”

“But I love saying nice things about you!” Even says, marvelling at the way his words make Isak flush from his hairline down to his neck. Softens his voice to say, “And I know that you’re still terrible at taking compliments, but we’re going to work on that because I really do think you’re great.”

Isak clears his throat, still looking embarrassed as he quietly finishes his dinner. Even crumples up his own soggy, empty kebab wrapper and puts it gently on the coffee table to clean up later; goes back to his movie.

When Isak does speak again, it’s a completely changed subject, something that isn’t lost on Even, but he’ll let it be for now. “How many times have you seen this movie? It’s like twenty-six hours long and nothing happens.”

“I can put something else on,” Even says, reaching for the remote, ready to switch to Baz’s next project.

“No, it’s fine,” Isak says, wiping his hands on a napkin, balling it up and tossing it onto the table next to their trash.

“Are you sure?” Even asks, settling back against the couch again, lifting his arm to make space for Isak beside him, notes how Isak’s uncoiling and relaxing beside him, bit by bit.

“Watch your boring movie,” Isak says, tucking himself into the space against Even’s side and yawning. “I really don’t mind.”

**four.**

It’s in Trondheim where Isak learns, bothers to learn, to properly brew a cup of tea, to use a kettle to boil the water on the stove, to steep for the appropriate amount of time.

( ** _Congratulations on finally learning a skill that even Elias managed as a child_** , Sana texts in response, when he messages her to say that he’ll make her the most masterful cup of tea next time they meet up. He responds with a string of crying emojis.)

He still doesn’t understand Even’s love for tea, the neat rows and varieties of boxes that he gets free from his café gig, stacked in controlled chaos order inside the cupboards, but he learns because of the indulgent little smile on Even’s face every time Isak pushes a mug of tea his direction, the head-duck of thanks when Isak gets the sugar and milk ratio just right. As for Isak, Trondheim’s turned him into a five-cup-a-day coffee drinker, the first mug made by Even almost every morning as a compromise for banning Red Bull from their new flat ( _If I’m going to be enabling your horrifying caffeine addiction, it should at least not taste like shit_ , Even had deadpanned without accusation, in that way that only Even can).

“I can make my own coffee, you know,” Isak says around an early morning yawn, sitting on the counter, his socked heels kicking gently against the kitchen cupboard doors.

“Mine tastes better,” Even says, setting a fresh mug of coffee on the counter next to a cup of perfectly steeped tea. “I’m literally a part-time barista.”

“Well, yeah,” Isak says. “But you don’t even drink coffee.”

“And you don’t drink tea, but you make it for me. You _learned_ to make tea for me!” Even says smugly. “You must really love me.”

“Only _because_ you make my coffee,” Isak retorts, more than willing to keep up this game. “Which tastes so much better than a soggy forest and different flavours of regret.”

Even laughs. “I make you coffee because I want to make you coffee. And I think you make me tea because you want to make me tea,” he says, sidling into Isak’s personal space, nudging his way between Isak’s legs.

Isak can feel himself smiling, leaning in closer until their foreheads are touching, noses almost brushing. “You can’t prove that.”

“It’s starting a day with a reminder that someone’s thinking of me,” Even continues. “I can make my own tea, but I like that you do it. I think it’s nice.”

“I’m not nice,” Isak protests, winding an arm around Even’s hip.

“You’re the nicest,” Even murmurs and then kisses him, derailing the conversation and any forthcoming protests as steam coils up from the mugs sitting next to them on the counter.

**five.**

The thing is, these days, Even would like to think that he’s more happy than not. While there’s no magical solution, this is the most consistently levelled he’s felt in a long time: a combination of a mix of medications and dosages that work, weekly therapy sessions over Skype with a therapist back in Oslo he genuinely likes and trusts, a routine that regulates his sleeping schedule, a circle of loving and non-judgemental family and friends, a supportive partner.

It also just makes a bad day, not to be confused with a Bad Day, just that much harder. A bad day is oversleeping and missing the tram, it’s being late for his excruciatingly boring but mandatory Methodologies class, it’s the coffee shop shift from hell, it’s Isak having an evening study session and not being home until late. But a bad day also means tentative inquiries from friends and colleagues, a worried Facetime with his mother, all of them so concerned that Something Could Be Happening that he finds himself stopping repeatedly throughout his day to self-evaluate, only adding to his ire.

It all comes to a head when Even decides to walk home that evening to try and ebb away some of the day’s frustrations, when suddenly it starts to pour and he’s caught out in it without an umbrella. And this, he decides, is absolute validation and definitive proof: today is officially a bad day.

By the time Even’s crawling into bed, finally dry and warm-ish, he’s miserable and exhausted, looking forward to watching a comfort-movie in bed and waiting for Isak to come home.

He realizes he’s dozed off only when he’s jostled awake, later, by Isak climbing into bed beside him.

“Hi,” says Isak.

Blearily, Even forces his eyes open, too tired to say anything. Leans up for an off-kilter kiss in exhaustion, mostly missing his mouth.

“Hey,” Isak says, a little more serious now, the fingers of one of his hands reaching around to tangle in Even’s hair. “You okay?” he asks, going for casual, but they both know exactly what he’s asking.

Even does his best to swallow down his annoyance. “I’m fine. Just had a bad day.”

Isak quirks an eyebrow. “A bad day? Or…”

“A bad day. I'm not having an episode, if that’s what you’re asking, because that’s what everyone else was asking. Just a regular bad day. I’m allowed to have those, right? Fuck!” He regrets it as soon as it comes out of his mouth but he can’t seem to stop. “Can I have a bad day without being interrogated?”

Isak doesn’t seem to mind the outburst, or if he does, he doesn’t mention it. "Yeah, of course. I’m sorry you had a bad day," he says and doesn't change his tone or stop what he's doing, his fingers still scritching through Even’s hair. And this, this here, might just be the best thing that’s happened to Even today.

Neither of them say anything for a few moments.

Finally, Even groans; rolls onto his back, dislodging Isak’s hand. He drapes his arm over his own eyes; can feel Isak still patiently watching him. “No, _I’m_ sorry. I’m being horrible.”

“You’re literally never horrible,” Isak says easily, so sincerely. “Trust me, I know about these things. I've been told that I'm the master of being a dick, it’s fine."

"You're also a master of dick," Even can't help himself.

Isak just hums in agreement, waiting, patient.

Even can feel the last of the day’s tension seeping away, dissipating into thin air. He lowers his arm and opens his eyes, tilts his head to look at Isak; he can feel the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his own mouth.

“Love me until I’m me again,” he says as dramatically as he can, trying to salvage what’s left of the night, grabbing Isak’s hand and then rolling them over so that Isak’s draped over his back.

A laugh from behind him, soft, not wild and carefree like on their best, sunniest days, but right now Even doesn’t think he’s ever heard a lovelier, more welcome sound.

Their legs tangle under the duvet and Isak presses a kiss to the back of Even’s neck, and suddenly Even’s transported to just over a year ago, the tail-end of a far worse time that he doesn’t remember much of until sounds were proper sounds again and padding to the kitchen didn’t feel so much like moving underwater anymore, how he still couldn’t find the words he wanted to express gratitude to Isak for keeping them both tethered and afloat over the previous week.

Isak had just wrapped his arms around Even, familiar as always and told him about a song that his dad used to like, some English song that had this line, _There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in_.

(“It’s this singer my dad used to listen to a lot of when I was a kid. I think he liked him because his muse was a woman called Marianne.”

“Like your mom.”

“Yeah, like my mom. But, that’s one of the lines from his songs. It just makes me think of you, I guess.”

“Cracks?”

Isak had scrunched up his nose. “How the light can get back in,” he countered, and Even had felt like something warm and hopeful and bright had taken root in his own chest.)

It’s a thought, a memory, that flits hazily in the corner of his mind; he wants to ask Isak if he remembers that conversation. But mostly Even’s tired, succumbing back to sleep, ready for today to be over. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

Isak doesn’t say anything in response; instead, curls himself around Even’s back, bracketing him like a comma and holding on tight. Presses another kiss to the back of his neck.

_And this_ , Even thinks drowsily. _This is love_.

Tomorrow will be better.

**six.**

“We should get a pet,” Even says without preamble, dropping into the chair across from Isak who’s been studying at the café for the last two hours, waiting for Even’s shift to end.

“We absolutely should not get a pet,” Isak counters, for the two hundred and sixty seventh time or however many versions of this conversation they’ve had over the years, without looking up from his hemodynamics textbook.

“Aw,” Even says, the same tone he takes every single time. “It could be nice though. And I think our lease says it’s okay to have pets in this apartment. Wouldn’t it be fun to adopt a new friend? Give it a good home?”

Isak does look up at that, setting down his highlighter. “Even. The love of my life. The man of my dreams.” He leans forward and so does Even, looking eager. “We both know I am not responsible enough to take care of a pet.”

Even just grins in response, leaning back in the chair again in an easy sprawl, and Isak is momentarily distracted by the way Even’s eyes crinkle up, thinks about how he’d do almost anything to make sure Even smiled like that always.”That’s not true,” he says.

Isak rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “It _is_ true,” he insists. “I can barely keep myself alive. And remember the time I killed Linn’s cactus? A _cactus_! Those things are supposed to be unkillable!”

“You take such good care of me though,” Even says, fond, with so much sincerity that Isak can feel the edges of his resolve crumbling.

“Only because you can usually tell me if you’re hungry or if you’re sad,” Isak responds, because he doesn’t like to lose arguments and will be damned if he loses this one because of his boyfriend saying nice things to him. “When a dog licks me in the face, what does that even mean?”

Even’s full-on laughing at him now. “I don’t know. But if I were to lick you in the face, it would just be to tell you how much I loved you.”

“Please don’t lick me in the face,” Isak deadpans, capping his highlighter, closing his textbook, gathering his things. “There are so many better ways you can tell me about how much you love me.”

Even pushes back his chair, taking off his work apron and passing it to Isak, who stuffs it into his backpack on top of his behemoth of a textbook. “How about if I buy you dinner, hmm? Does that work? Is that better?”

Isak nods emphatically and smiles, shouldering his bag, and takes Even’s pre-offered hand, letting himself be led outside into the late afternoon sunshine.

**seven.**

Even’s been told for years that his superpower is that he can talk to almost anybody, that he has an uncanny ability to make friends wherever he goes. Sonja used to joke that everyone in Norway either wanted to date or adopt him. He’d conveyed this to Isak one time in passing, who had just shrugged:

“I mean, she wasn’t wrong,” Isak had said in response. “You’re very popular. Old ladies in particular seem to love you.”

(“I’m also good at losing friends though,” he had lamented to Isak, one time. “Remember what happened with Elias and the boys?”

Isak, half-asleep, had just groaned and burrowed his face further against Even’s neck. “Yeah, but you got them back, right?”

And Even couldn’t argue with that.)

As a result, Even has had no trouble making fast friends with his classmates, amassing a large group of acquaintances almost immediately. The comfort that they have with him largely translates into Even being voluntold to host pre-parties at his apartment that Isak’s been amenable about; while he only ends up going out with Even’s aspiring teacher friends half the time, he always plays the part of gracious host and doting boyfriend perfectly.

( _Eskild would be proud_ , Even thinks.)

The nights when Isak does actually join Even and his friends at parties and clubs, it’s usually because he’s been cajoled by Sloan, Even’s favourite new person in Trondheim: a tall, non-binary kid he met on his first day of orientation with an easy grin and an edge to their humour. Even and Sloan had bonded over a shared teaching philosophy and the fact that they both identified as pansexual. Sloan had also roasted Isak mercilessly on sight, which had, to Even’s surprised delight, endeared Isak to them from the jump, the two of them often found teasing each other in the kitchen of every pre-party, which only endeared Even to them more.

As a result, Even often finds himself pairing up for projects with Sloan, which frequently culminates in unglamorous times, like sharing a Google Doc while sitting across from each other at their usual table at the library, frantically trying to compile a week’s worth of mock teaching plans that don’t sound too much like an exercise in copy plus paste plus shift F7 before their agreed-on break time in seventeen minutes.

They’re both so engrossed in their work that Even actually startles when his phone on the table vibrates suddenly. He flips it over and can’t help but smile when he notices that it’s from Isak: **_you in class?_**

**_No. Library with Sloan_ **

The response comes back almost immediately: **_K. Same table?_**

Even sends an emoji of a dancing penguin; Isak will know what that means.

Isak doesn’t respond, but he does materialize about seven and a half minutes later, leaning down to kiss Even quickly in greeting and then reaching over to do some complicated hand slap combination with Sloan. “What are you two up to?”

“Lesson plans,” Sloan says. They move to liberate their backpack from a chair to make room for Isak. “But breaking for lunch soon. Wanna come with?”

“Nah, I got a lab in ten minutes.” Isak then turns to address Even: “I do have a question for my boyfriend though. How are you planning to get home tonight?”

Even can feel his own forehead furrowing in confusion. “Uh. The tram? Like always.”

“Cool,” Isak replies nonchalantly. “And when you get back to our building, how are you gonna get into the apartment?”

Even squints at Isak. “Did I leave my keys at home?”

Isak fishes in his jeans pocket, pulling out a key dangling on a haphazardly homemade EVAK FOREVER keychain that Magnus ( _with love_ , he had insisted loudly, repeatedly) had made as a goodbye gift. Even had thought it was hilarious, deciding instantly that he was going to keep it for always. “Sure did,” Isak says, tossing it onto the table.

“My hero,” Even deadpans.

Isak flashes him a sly grin. “I know, right? What would you do without me?” He checks his phone. “Shit, I gotta go. See you at home?”

“Okay. Love you,” Even says.

“Love you,” Isak replies. “Bye Sloan!”

Even watches as he runs off, almost crashing into a harried-looking professor in his haste, veering off at the last moment in a flurry of apologies.

When he turns back, shaking his head in bemusement, there’s Sloan watching him, looking curious. “What?” he asks.

“Do you always do that?” Sloan wants to know

Even tosses the aforementioned keys into his backpack. “Forget my keys? Yeah, I’m the worst.”

“No, I mean, that other thing,” Sloan says impatiently. “Like, when you say you love each other. I’ve noticed that a few times.You don’t say, like I love you too. You know, like normal people.”

Even laughs, flipping his notebook to a fresh page without doodles. “Isak started it, and now we just keep doing it. I asked him about it once when he was drunk. I don’t think he remembers telling me.”

“What did he say?”

“That he says he loves me because he wants to, not because he has to, and he felt like ‘too’ sounded like an obligation.”

Sloan starts laughing in disbelief. “Gross.”

“You’re just jealous of our love,” Even says, feeling smug and fighting the urge to do something ridiculous and childish like stick out his tongue.

“It’s actually kind of sweet, in a very cheesy and hilarious kind of way,” Sloan declares, still laughing. “He’s good for you.”

“He’s the best,” Even agrees, with feeling, and doesn’t mind at all when Sloan spends all of their lunch break making fun of him about it.

**eight.**

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay with me staying with you next week?” Isak asks over Facetime, desperately trying to change the subject after almost ten minutes of cat-calling from Eskild and Linn in response to Even scampering through the background of the call, post-shower in nothing but a slipping towel.

It does the trick when he gets simultaneous eyerolls in response; sometimes, Isak forgets how many mannerisms Eskild and Linn share from their years of cohabitation and codependency.

“You know damn well Eskild would riot if you came home and weren’t staying with us,” Linn says flatly.

Eskild nods. “It’s true, I really would,” he says, and Isak’s grateful about how neither of them comment on the rise of pink on his cheeks, his delight about having this confirmed aloud.

“Noora said to say it’s fine, too, as long as you help her find a cute new boyfriend—” Linn continues.

“—or girlfriend—” Eskild interjects.

“—or girlfriend,” Linn amends.

“And you, Linn?” Isak can’t help but tease. “Are you excited to see me?”

Her pixelated face squints a little bit, as if considering. “I’m medium amounts excited to see you.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Eskild stage-whispers. “She made us buy new pillows and a thicker blanket so you’d be comfortable on the couch, she misses you a lot.”

“I miss having someone to watch infomercials with at three in the morning,” Linn retorts, but smiles helplessly.

“Plus I need my godson to meet his new stepdad!” Eskild crows.

Isak perks up. “You have a boyfriend?”

“They’ve been on one date,” Linn says.

“And what a date it was!” Eskild says. “He could very well be my soulmate, I feel it in my bones. He also said he’d come to Christmas dinner on the 25th, that seems like it could be very serious to me.”

“He only agreed because he’s Jewish and doesn’t have other plans,” Linn informs Isak.

“Or it was our electric connection that persuaded him,” Eskild insists. “You gonna be here too for Christmas dinner, Baby J?”

“Yeah, I’m going to have dinner with my mom on the 24th and breakfast with Even’s family on the 25th. Oh, and Jonas and Sana’s birthdays, but those won’t overlap with holiday plans.”

“That’s it?!”

“What do you mean ‘that’s it’? I thought you wanted to spend time with me!”

“Well, yes. But I thought you would have more family things to do with Even,” Eskild says slowly.

“I might see them later in the week but he should get to have time with his family without me there. I think they must miss him, he’s never lived this far from them for so long. I didn’t want to overstep, you know?”

Eskild opens his mouth as if to argue, but Linn beats him to it, leaning forward: “We don’t have time to unpack _all_ of that. But know that I will absolutely be judging you when Even inevitably tries to sneak into the flat in the middle of the night, because not once has he ever been quiet about it.”

“No, she won’t. Even’s always welcome in our happy home. She’s just jealous because she wants to be the one to cuddle you when you’re here,” Eskild coos, smacking a kiss to the side of Linn’s head.

“Aw, Linn. I’ll cuddle the shit out of you,” Isak declares, and laughs when she just stares blankly at him in response.

Eskild clasps his hands to his chest and makes loud, fake crying noises. “My godson and favourite daughter, your new stepfather, and your Great Auntie Linn, all home to be with _moi_ for Christmas. How very merry we shall be.”

“ _Great Auntie Linn_?” Linn parrots, disgusted, simultaneous to Isak’s outraged “ _I’m_ not your favourite?!”

“And a beautiful son-in-law who sneaks into the house like a thief in the night to defile my godson. I am blessed, truly blessed,” Eskild warbles, steamrolling over both their protests and expertly ducking out of the way when Linn makes a move to whack him in the arm.

“Are _you_ still sure you want to stay with us?” Linn asks, turning back to the screen. “It’s not too late to back out just yet.”

“Absolutely,” Isak says, and can’t believe how much he means it, how much he misses them; Eskild and Linn’s pleased, grinning faces on the other end of the call tell him that he’s not the only one. “I can’t wait.”

**nine.**

Years ago, Even’s mom had told him that who you were with on New Year’s Eve was who you would spend the upcoming year with. If that’s the case, he’s glad they won’t be going back to Trondheim until the end of the week. He says this all out loud around an exhale of cigarette smoke on the upstairs balcony of Eva’s mom’s house, the thumping bass of the almost exclusively EDM-playlist, a result of Eva trusting a tag team of Mahdi-and-Chris Berg to DJ the evening, muffled behind the door. Next to him, shivering in a hoodie and with a mostly empty bottle of beer dangling between his fingers, Isak just smiles in response.

“That's not so bad,” Isak says, waving his free hand to clear away some of the smoke that’s drifted in his face. “So we’re going to spend the next year with all of our friends listening to terrible EDM.”

“I also get to spend all of next year with you,” Even adds, taking one last puff of his cigarette and then stubbing it out on the railing.

Isak holds out his bottle for Even to deposit the butt, which he does. “The smallest bones in the human body are found in the middle ear,” he says.

Even tilts his head, a little confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Isak winks. “Nothing. I just thought we were stating facts.”

Even can’t stop the grin that spreads over his own face, either. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me,” Isak says, taking a step closer toward Even, into his personal space.

“I do love you. That’s also a fact,” Even concedes, nudging his nose against Isak’s.

“Mmm,” Isak murmurs tilting his head up, and from this close Even swears that he can see the infinite possibilities of every parallel universe in Isak’s eyes, like he could just get lost in them. “You smell like you just ate an ashtray.”

“Yeah, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Even deadpans, and then kisses Isak, soft and slow like a promise, outside on the upstairs balcony of Eva’s mother’s house, twenty-six minutes before the new year begins.

**ten.**

Isak comes home, shucking off his winter coat and boots before trudging his way into the apartment to find Even splayed out, supine on the hardwood floor. Familiar with his boyfriend's occasional bouts of dramatics, Isak spares a quick glance to make sure Even’s conscious (he is) and lucid (he is) before unwinding the thick scarf he’s wearing to throw in Even’s general direction and lying down on the floor beside him, a few inches away.

It takes a moment or two before Even turns his head to peer at him. “I made dinner, it’s keeping warm in the oven.”

“Thank you,” Isak says, flailing around a hand so he doesn’t have to look away from Even. He squeezes Even’s hand when he finds it, dozens of questions on the tip of his tongue. He decides to go with the one that seems most obvious at the moment: “Why are we lying on the ground?”

Even groans and goes back to staring at the ceiling, tangling the fingers of his free hand with the scarf still splayed on top of him. From this angle, Isak has a perfect view of the colony of dust bunnies collected under the folded-up pull-out couch and makes a mental note to vacuum over the upcoming weekend.

“Tomorrow’s my birthday,” Even finally says.

Isak’s well aware of this fact. He’s only been spending the last three weeks planning Even’s birthday evening to the last detail and saving money since Christmas for dinner at that hipster restaurant Even likes and two passes to the Norwegian International Film Festival and psyching himself up to tell Even that it’s totally fine if he takes Mikael instead of him because he would absolutely be more appreciative of the line-up. “I thought you liked your birthday,” he ventures.

“I do,” Even says. “It’s just…I don’t know, you’re going to think it sounds stupid.”

“Try me,” Isak challenges.

Even sighs. “I just...there was a point in my life when I didn’t know if I was going to make it to my twenties, you know? But now that they’re here, I feel like...I don’t know. I wanted to make movies, instead I’m here in _teacher’s school_ and haven’t done _any_ script-writing or creative work in weeks. And what if I never do again? Am I just wasting time? What am I even doing with my life?”

Isak blinks, thinking, absorbing, trying to ignore the way the floor’s digging into his hip. “Well, for starters, I’m really glad you’re still here,” he says finally, quietly.

“That’s not what I meant,” Even says, wincing. “It came out all wrong. I told you, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Isak responds immediately. “It’s not. I mean, it’s stupid of your brain to lie to you, I hate that it does that sometimes. But how you’re feeling’s not stupid.”

Even doesn’t say anything in response, so Isak takes a deep breath and seizes the opportunity to barrel on: “I think...I think sometimes, having expectations can be hard, right? But I also think you’re doing well in school and you like what you’re learning, you’re good with kids. And if you like it, then that’s a good thing, right? And if you love your movies, then we can still prioritize that too, we’ll make time for you to write, or maybe we’ll just have to watch more movies to spark your creativity, hmm? My mom just started doing pottery and she’s almost 50.”

“She does pottery for Occupational Therapy,” Even points out, the ghost of a smile finally quirking at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah,” Isak agrees. “But think of the nice mugs she gives us after.”

Even goes quiet for a moment after that, like he’s thinking; Isak lets him.

“When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?” Even finally asks.

Isak laughs, startled by the turn of conversation. “I think I wanted to move to America and become a professional hockey player.”

Even’s face breaks into a grin. “So what happened?”

“Are you kidding, have you met my parents? They didn’t have time for that. I can barely skate,” Isak says, pleased to find that these truths almost don’t even hurt to admit anymore.

“I’m sorry they never taught you,” Even says, sincerely. “I can teach you.”

Isak gives him a look. “While I appreciate that, this isn’t about me, it’s about you.”

Even groans, letting go of the scarf to grab a fistful of his own hair. ”I don’t know what to say. I like my life, I really do. It’s a good life. It just didn’t turn out the way I thought it would, I guess.”

“You can be happy and still disappointed,” Isak points out. “Things didn’t work out how you wanted, that’s disappointing. But I hope you know that doesn’t mean that _you’re_ a disappointment. Because you’re not. You’re smart and kind and brave. So you’re not the second coming of Baz Lurhman before you turned 22, so what? _Australia_ is such a boring movie, Even!”

“It’s not boring! It’s a love letter to the continent and its landscape!” Even protests.

“It’s _boring_ ,” Isak repeats firmly. “And okay, so maybe what you planned for yourself as an adult when you were a kid didn’t play out the way you want it to. But maybe that just means that your adventures will be different from what you imagined. And it can also mean that we get to go on some of your new adventures together.”

Even does smile a little at that. “That’s actually pretty chill,” he says.

"It’s chill,” Isak agrees. This time, Even squeezes his hand in response; Isak knows that there’s no way that one conversation will completely abate all of Even’s insecurities on the matter, and certainly not tonight. But he’s ready to have this conversation again: two, three, six hundred, an infinite number of more times, however many more times it takes.

It’s okay. They have the time.

(Even's foot nudges Isak’s where they’re sitting next to each other at the kitchen table, devouring the meal Even made for them tonight; apparently, talking about an existential crisis leads to ravenous hunger. “Are there even any Norweigian hockey players in America?” he asks.

“Yeah, there’s one,” Isak says. “I only know because Mahdi looked it up for some reason when we were home for Christmas. His name’s Mats Zuccarello.”

“Is he hot?”

Isak puts down his fork and reaches for his phone to google; looks at the picture, thinks. “Not really,” he says, holding his phone out for Even to see.

Even takes the phone from Isak, swiping through the pictures as his face does something complicated. When he looks up, he asks, “Is there a parallel universe where you’re a hot professional hockey player in America and we’re in love?”

Isak rolls his eyes. “Why are you like this?”

“It’s my birthday. Answer the question,” Even says, putting down the phone. “Should I make a movie about it one day?”

“Your birthday’s not until tomorrow, I don’t have to answer shit,” Isak replies, shoving an inadvisably large forkful of food into his mouth and almost chokes on it. It’s almost worth it for the way it makes Even laugh.)

**eleven.**

Even’s not sure if they fight more or less than other couples. He thinks they might be better at communicating: he knows that years of therapy and the sheer nature of his illness have made him much more self-aware and he knows that Isak’s always been supportive of him, doing his best to be understanding. On the other hand, Isak’s still not the best at articulating his feelings, but Even can tell he’s trying, and sometimes, that’s all one can ask for.

But sometimes, they do argue, because of course they do. Over chores and over workloads and over medication schedules and self-care; about everything and about nothing at all. Even knows that they’re both stubborn and competitive, often too proud to back down in an argument and finding themselves digging up instead. There are times when an overtired Isak’s attempts at empathy tip into passive aggression, when Even knows that he’s taken his own teasing or jokes just a step too far.

They get into a spectacular blowout fight the week after Valentine’s Day about Isak screening his dad’s calls (“just because he wants to get to know you, what the fuck, _I_ don’t want to talk to him!”) and then another one three days later about the number of cigarettes Even’s been smoking though admittedly he’s currently trying to quit again (“are you _counting_ how many I smoke a day now? Reminder that I’m a fucking adult. Shit, let me live!”), which inevitably shifts into a fight about who forgot to pick up more bread after they ran out, crescendoing into hurled insults that normally wouldn’t get thrown until they’re both near furious tears.

For the first time since they’ve moved to Trondheim, Even goes to bed angry, alone.

Eight hours later, he wakes up, still to an empty bed.

He gropes around for his phone, the anger from the night before drained and replaced by worry. He has Isak’s phone number pulled up to panic dial before he can hear sounds coming from the kitchen, which sort of temps down his concern enough to roll out of bed, to pad out of the room and down the hall to investigate.

He’s greeted by the sight of Isak fiddling with something at the stove. Still in yesterday’s clothes, Isak turns when he hears Even’s approach. He doesn’t say anything but wordlessly pushes Even’s favourite tea mug across the counter toward him before turning back to his task at hand.

Even smiles despite himself, recognizing the olive branch for what it is and picks up the mug in one hand. He takes a sip as he makes his way over to the stove to refill the kettle and start making coffee. “What are you cooking?” he asks tentatively, breaking the silence.

“I’m burning pannekaker because we don’t have any bread,” Isak says, his voice oddly neutral as he scrapes the thin layer of batter that seems to already be sticking to the bottom of the pan.

“It doesn’t smell that burnt,” Even offers, pouring the water over the coffee, and leaning against the counter to wait.

Isak makes a frustrated noise and turns off the stove, clattering the spatula onto the pan of half-cooked food, moving the entire situation onto another element and turning off the stove. He turns to look at Even. “I know that quitting smoking is supposed to be really hard. I didn’t mean to put pressure on you.”

Even nods. The coffee done now, he pours it into another mug and hands it to Isak before picking up his own mug of tea. “I’m sorry about the stuff with your dad. I overstepped.”

Isak lowers his gaze to stare into the mug of coffee he’s holding with both hands like it holds all the answers. “I know you like him, and I’m glad he likes you, too. But I have a very different relationship with him and it’s fucked up. I need you to be okay with that.”

“Yeah, of course,” Even says. “I just wanted to help.”

“I know,” Isak replies, still looking down. “It’s one of the best things about you.”

“I don’t like fighting with you.”

“All couples fight.”

“I know. I still don’t like it.”

“I don’t like fighting with you either,” Isak concedes. He bites his lip, as if thinking. Says, “At least we fuck more than we fight, I guess?”

“I don’t think that’s necessarily the answer,” Even says, and finishes the dredges of his tea.

“I’m just saying what I hope is true, I don’t actually know or have any answers,” Isak says. “But I think if we try to remember that we’re on the same team, and that neither of us are, like, mind-readers...”

This should be enough; Even knows it is. But like a still-healing bruise that he can’t help but poke at, Even still finds himself asking, “What happens if that’s not true anymore?”

Isak shrugs, puts down his half-full mug of coffee on the counter next to Even’s now-empty mug, and runs a hand over his face. “We don’t have to stay together forever, you know? If you’re not happy with me, it’s okay for you to not be with me. I mean, ideally you would tell me you wanted to break up before doing it so we can try and fix it first, but yeah. Even, you’re not a lobster.”

Even’s forehead furrows in confusion. “Lobster?”

“Lobsters mate for life, they don’t get to choose,” Isak explains.

“And what if you want to leave?”

“I don’t think I will. You’re the best thing in my life.”

“But if that changes?” Even presses.

Isak sighs, conceding. “I”m not a lobster either, okay?”

“Okay,” Even agrees. He pauses to really take in the moment, watching Isak carefully. “So since we’ve established that we’re both not lobsters, what do we do in this minute instead?”

“Make-up sex?” Isak offers.

Even quirks an eyebrow. “We weren’t fighting just now anymore, were we?”

“...regular sex?” Isak tries again. ”I think the pannekaker’s fucked anyway so either I’ve wasted my morning or we can find another better use for my time.”

“It’s fine,” Even says. And then his eyes light up, backing Isak up into the kitchen counter: “Hey you know what you can eat for breakfast instead?”

“If you’re about to say ‘dick,’ we are never having sex again,” Isak warns, but that doesn’t stop him from leaning up for a kiss.

Even laughs into the kiss. “I was one thousand percent going to say ‘dick,’” he affirms, and then spends the rest of the morning proving Isak to be the worst kind of liar, twice.

**twelve.**

Isak’s in the middle of untangling himself out of his t-shirt that might originally have been Even's but is equally probable to have once been Jonas' or Eskild's. He tosses it aside with the intention of immediately diving into bed because _it’s fucking cold_ , but falters for a moment when he notices that Even’s watching him, burrowed under the blankets.

“What?” Isak asks, suddenly self-conscious, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

Even reaches out an arm and makes a grabby hand gesture. “You’re too far away.”

Isak squints at him but pads over in his boxers and socks, crawling under the duvet to plaster himself over Even and lean up for a kiss.

Even smiles into it. “I’m so glad you’re mine,” he murmurs, their noses still close enough to press together.

“People can’t belong to each other. We’re not possessions.”

Even scoffs. “Sure they can,” he says. He reaches up, gently pulls on a lock of Isak’s hair. “Look, see this curl? This is my curl.”

“Even, no,” Isak says, squeezing his eyes shut and trying not to smile.

“Even, yes,” Even says. He leans down, kisses Isak’s left eyelid, a barely there brush of his lips. “This is my eyelid. My eyelashes.”

“No,” Isak repeats, opening his eyes now to watch Even, who just grins and reaches for Isak’s hand.

Even tugs their hands up, kissing Isak’s inner left wrist. “This is mine, too. So is the other one. I could keep going if you need more proof. You know, for science.”

“No, that’s okay,” Isak says again, feeling laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Fine. You can have my wrists.”

“I knew it,” Even says. “I knew you’d see it my way. And all I had to do was invoke science, my little genius.”

“Shut up,” Isak says without malice, full-on laughing now.

Even grins, continuing. “There’s good news, though. Because you know what? If you’re mine, that means I’m also yours. This hand? It’s all yours,” he says, flattening it against Isak’s face.

Isak laughs, shoving Even’s hand away. “You do have nice hands.”

“So do we have a deal?”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Isak says, bemused by Even’s antics. Anything else he wants to say is swallowed up when Even drops the hand he’s holding to surge up for another kiss instead.

**thirteen.**

Even wakes up alone in the middle of the night, rolls over to see the clock—3:23—and closes his eyes again. Twelve minutes later, he’s still unsettled, so he opens his eyes and realizes that the bed’s still empty. He slides out of bed, shuffling out the bedroom and making his way down the short hallway by feel and memory alone.

The flimsy curtains in the living room don’t completely block out the light of the moon and street lamps; Even can see the outlined lump of Isak on the couch under the afghan that Even’s mom had made for them when they had first moved in months ago.

“Are you awake?” Even asks, trying to keep his voice soft in the dark.

He gets a hum of affirmation in response.

“What are you doing over there? Come back to bed.”

There’s no answer, but when Even listens carefully, he can hear Isak’s breathing harshly, an almost gasping wheeze.

“Isak?” Even asks, suddenly far more awake than moments ago. The duvet tangles with his legs as he makes his way to the couch and he stumbles, sprawling gracelessly onto the floor by Isak’s head. “Are you okay?”

From his prone position, cheek pressed to the couch seat, Isak meets Even’s worried gaze, his eyes are blown wide, a rapid inhale and exhale cycle that borders on hyperventilation. Wheezes out an _I’m okay_ , a raspy mantra on every third or four exhale, and suddenly Even knows exactly what’s happening.

Isak’s arm drops from the side of the couch, like it’s looking for something to hold on to tight; Even’s fingers find Isak’s almost instantly, tangles them together. Swallows down his own panic as he waits for Isak to find his breath again, knowing that it works best for him to ride it out and sits in silence that’s undercut by a stuttering staccato as he holds on tight, waiting.

(“Does this happen a lot?” Even asks around a yawn, later, holding on tightly to an exhausted Isak in his arms, both of them squished on to the couch. He knows about the insomnia and he knows about the bouts of anxiety, but he’s never seen them interact, not like this. “I thought you’ve been sleeping better.”

Isak doesn’t say anything for a long moment in favour of playing with the waistband of Even’s boxers. Finally, quietly, he tells him about the occasional recent sleepless nights when he moves to the couch so he doesn’t wake up his boyfriend, how he crawls back in the morning to not cause more worry. How sometimes, usually in the middle of the night, days after something stressful or unsettling he’s powered through, when things are fine, suddenly he’ll think he can’t breathe and his fingers will go numb and tingly, followed by his other extremities. _Almost like an adrenaline crash_ , he says.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Even wants to know, hating how small and hurt his voice sounds, even to himself.

“Because I didn’t want you to worry. Because you need to sleep. Because I can handle it,” Isak rattles off listlessly. “I know what’s happening, it’s mostly just inconvenient. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Even counters.

“It’s _fine_ ,” Isak insists. “It’s how it’s always been.”

And the problem is, Even know that that’s all mostly true. If he could, he’d fix this. But he also knows, maybe better than almost anyone else, that it’s damn near impossible to help someone until they’re ready and open to it. Until then, all he can do is be present and patient—Even’s never been very good at waiting, he thinks, but for Isak he thinks he would do pretty much anything.

“Do you think it would help if you cut back on some caffeine?” Even suggests gently, instead, grasping at tangible solutions. “Like, one or two less coffees a day, maybe?”

“I like coffee,” Isak says, and Even’s almost impressed at how petulant he manages to sound, even now. “Plus it helps me stay awake when I’m tired.”

“I think that might actually be part of the problem,” Even says, trying to keep his voice light and free from judgement. “Do you think you would want to try switching to tea?”

“Get out of here with your regret flavoured hot water,” Isak tells him, steadier than he’s been all night, and Even can feel himself huff a little bit in relief.

“Maybe I can start bringing home some decaf from work and we can alternate?”

“Maybe,” Isak says noncommittally, followed by a yawn.

Even moves a hand up to stroke a finger gently down the bridge of Isak’s nose, once, twice, three times. Watches the way Isak’s eyes close for longer and longer in between. “You know that I’m here if you want to talk about it,” he says.

“I know,” Isak says, eyes blinking slowly open. “But there isn’t anything to talk about.”

Even takes a deep breath. Counts silently to five. Exhales, still feeling a little out of his depth. Checks the clock in the corner of the room. Makes an executive decision. “I have class in, like, three hours—”

“Sorry,” Isak interrupts, and he sounds a little more awake now, absolutely stricken. “That’s why—”

“—I’m gonna skip my morning lecture and I think my boyfriend should also skip his class and stay home to take naps with me,” Even continues, doing his best to keep his voice soft and calm as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

At this, Isak seems to settle again in his arms. Yawns again and mumbles, “It’s a study group this week.”

“All the more reason to skip and lie here with me,” Even points out. “Last night sucked.”

“It did suck,” Isak agrees, not quite asleep, but warm and pliant, makes no move to get up, and Even takes this as a sign that this is Isak giving in to his suggestion for how to spend the morning, not pulling away from Even. He might not be ready to talk about it, but maybe one day he will be—this could be a good start.

So Even does his best to be patient; holds on. Waits.)

**fourteen.**

He would never admit it unless under duress, but Isak’s well aware that his tolerance for alcohol hasn’t been the same since that miserable summer he turned seventeen and spent three months secretly squatting in Eskild’s depressing basement, and then drinking and partying as much as possible to forget, because that was better than feeling like the world was going to end. His ability to hold his liquor had then diminished again when Even made the decision to stop drinking altogether, and Isak thought he might try cutting back, too, in solidarity.

But tonight they’re at a party, one of Even’s new friends’ places because of course Even already has a tight knit social group, Isak thinks: he’s like the sun, warm and bright, and everyone else just wants to be pulled in, orbiting around him.

“Have fun,” Even murmurs in Isak’s ear as they wait for someone to open the front door and let them in. “Let loose. I promise I’ll take care of you.”

So Isak had taken the words to heart, had chomped down on the weed gummies Sloan had slyly handed him as they walked in and chased it with three cans of Tuborgs, nursing a fourth while squashed on a loveseat beside Evan. He does his best to make polite conversation and seem interesting, because he never has been good at making new friends without the help of Jonas, or Eva, or the happenstance of being assigned a semi-willing partner in biology class trying to blackmail him.

The gummies seem to do the trick: he definitely cares less about what Even’s new friends think of him, though most of them seem to like him okay, though maybe that’s just by virtue of how much they love Even. Isak thinks that’s very understandable: after all, he, too, loves Even. Mostly, he spends the night silently watching him, marvelling at the lines of Even’s throat when his head’s thrown back as he laughs, the way Eskild’s Jesus shirt fits perfectly over Even’s shoulders.

All in all, it’s not a bad night, even kind of fun, and he even tells Even as much on their walk home that night, the fingers of his right hand interlaced with Even’s left.

Even’s smile is fond. “I’m glad.”

“I think Sloan is very into your friend Céline,” Isak announces, trying to prove that he had done more than pined and gotten wasted all night.

“That’s good,” Even says, swinging their arms a little bit. “Because I think Céline is very into Sloan.”

Isak blinks owlishly, feeling a little sluggish. “We didn’t have to leave if you were having fun with your friends.”

“I did have fun,” Even says. ”And now I wanna go home and spend some time with you. How are you feeling?”

Isak deliberates for a moment, thinking. “Kinda drunk, pretty stoned,” Isak says. Adds, “Hungry?”

Even laughs. “And that’s why I’m taking you home. Can I make you something to eat?”

Isak smiles, listing a bit to the left, still holding Even’s hand; he never wants to let go of Even’s hand. He thinks. “A sandwich?” he finally suggests.

“Sure,” Even says cheerfully. “I’ll make you the finest cardamom toastie. I’ll even add cheese. Maybe it’ll help lessen your hangover tomorrow, hmm?”

“I don’t remember how to drink anymore I think,” Isak laments, drifting back toward Even. “I’m definitely gonna be hungover tomorrow.”

“S’okay. I’ll take care of you,” Even says easily for the second time this evening, tucking Isak under his arm.

And Isak believes him.

**fifteen.**

Jonas had texted to say that they would make their way to the apartment themselves, no need to meet them at the station, so Even’s not surprised when he opens the door to be greeted with an armful of excitable Eva Kviig Mohn. She hugs him tight for exactly five point four seconds before squeezing past him into the flat to bodily throw all 176 centimetres of herself at Isak, who staggers back but somehow stays on his feet as he laughs into her curtain of hair.

“Hey,” Jonas says, leaning against the door frame. He holds a hand out to clasp Even’s and pull him into a bro hug.”Thanks for letting us stay with you guys.”

“Of course,” Even says easily, kicking the door shut behind them. “We weren’t going to make you stay in an Airbnb.”

“Just remember that generosity of spirit in the middle of the night when Eva tries to drunkenly crawl into bed between the two of you,” Jonas advises, grinning.

“The more the merrier. Plus, then you can have the entire pull-out couch to yourself,” Even says. “Speaking of which, it’s just through there, if you want to put down your stuff. You can’t miss it, our place is super small.”

Jonas bobs his head in thanks, making sure to knock shoulders with Isak on his way in greeting. He makes quick work of dropping off the bags and sidles back to the hallway. “Eva has a present for you both, by the way.”

Eva gasps. “I almost forgot!” She reaches into her oversized tote bag and pulls out a slightly lopsided tinfoil wrapped mess with a flourish, thrusting it at Isak. “Here, Sana and Yousef made you some Meskouta. But don’t worry, I think it was mostly Yousef.”

Isak gingerly lifts the top layer of foil to take a peek inside. “There’s three slices missing.”

“I was _hungry_ ,” Eva says defensively. “And I only ate two pieces!”

Isak raises an eyebrow at Jonas, who just shrugs. “Solidarity?” he says, and it sounds more like a question than an answer. “It was delicious, I regret nothing.”

“We can have it for dessert,” Even slides into the conversation neatly, proud of himself for how totally not awkward he’s being right now.

The distraction works beautifully and does exactly what Even wants it to, since Isak’s never once missed an opportunity to brag about his boyfriend: “Even made dinner,” he announces with pride.

Eva grins, turning to Even. “You did?”

Even shrugs. “Thought you might be hungry after travelling all day. Hope you both like fish!”

“I like anything as long as Isak’s not the one cooking it,” Jonas says mildly, looping an arm over Isak’s shoulders.

“Hey!” Isak protests, but doesn’t duck away.

“Isak, remember when I told you I might steal your boyfriend,” Eva says. “Tonight. It’s happening tonight.”

“You already have a boyfriend!”

“We could trade?” Eva offers, as if Jonas isn’t standing _right there_ , both he and Even looking on in amusement.

“No way!” Isak says loudly. “That’s a bad trade. My boyfriend’s a better cook and _way_ hotter. Uh. No offence, Jonas.”

“ _You tried to be chill but I’m so hot that you melted_ ,” Jonas sings tunelessly and then offers a cheesy wink.

This makes both Eva and Isak burst into laughter, which causes Jonas to look very proud of himself. Even’s pretty sure he may have missed an inside joke, but Isak looks so happy here, sandwiched between Jonas and Eva and a lopsided cake, he can’t bring himself to mind.

(Even’s having a quick cigarette on the balcony after dinner when the door behind him opens—he hears snippets of Eva’s recounting of Vilde and Magnus’ on-again-off-again relationship (apparently currently on again)—and then snicks close again. Suddenly, there’s Jonas’ voice, asking him if he’s okay with company.

In lieu of answering, Even just turns and holds out the pack of cigarettes to him, offering; Jonas declines but makes his way over next to Even, leaning on the railing.

Even exhales a puff of smoke. “So Magnus and Vilde are doing okay? His texts always make it sound like they are.”

Jonas shrugs. “I think so? Either they’ll figure it out or they won’t.”

“Like you and Eva?”

“Like me and Eva,” Jonas confirms. “She’s just the best, you know?”

Even nods, brings the cigarette back up to his lips. He turns his head slightly and gets a glimpse of Eva and Isak inside, sprawled out on the couch and drinking wine directly from a bottle, passing it back and forth, and can’t help but smile.

Jonas seems to follow Even’s line of sight and seems to grin helplessly at the scene as well. “I love when my favourites are each others’ favourites,” he says.

“Even after I win Eva’s heart and we run away together?”

“Yeah, maybe even then,” Jonas says, still watching the two inside. “Christ, I’ve never seen him this happy.”

Even turns so that he’s leaning his back against the railing. “He makes me happy, too,” he says.

“Things are good, yeah?” Jonas asks mildly, tilting his head in the way that always means that he’s listening, really listening.

Even thinks about it for a moment, smoking quietly as he does. “I think so, yeah. Things with Isak are good. I like my program. I’m editing videos for Hei Breisky again, I have good friends and family, my job mostly doesn’t suck, and my, you know.” He makes a vague gesture at the vicinity of his head. “It’s good. So...yeah.”

For a moment, Even worries that he’s overshared, but when he looks over at Jonas, he’s just grinning at him, almost proudly. “I really want to make fun of how disgusting you two are, but I believe in dismantling toxic representations of masculinity where we don’t properly communicate our feelings or pretend we don’t experience joy.”

Coming from anyone else, Even thinks, that would sound ridiculous, but coming from Jonas, it just makes Even like him more. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. Plus I don’t want to sleep on the street tonight, you know?”

“You’re fine. We both know Isak wouldn’t let that happen,” Even says, but smiles so that Jonas knows that he’s just kidding.

Jonas’ own grin softens. “Well, in that case, I don’t know. Happiness looks great on you both, I think.”

“Thanks,” Even says, not sure if that’s the right answer, but grateful nonetheless. “I think so too.”)

**sixteen.**

“Maybe we could get a pet after all,” Isak says, soapy water halfway to his elbows as he washes up after dinner.

“Why the change of heart?” Even asks, drying a plate and carefully stacking it on the other clean ones.

Isak shrugs. “A lot of people who are irresponsible love their pets and are actually pretty good at taking care of them."

"Sure, and you're not even irresponsible."

"It could be good to have a pet around for when you’re depressed.”

“That’s true,” Even says, flipping the dishcloth onto his shoulder so he can wander over and drop a kiss to the side of Isak’s head.

“They can also be good for anxiety,” Isak says, not looking up from the saucepan he’s currently scouring. It’s the first time he’s tested saying it out loud and Isak’s proud of the way his voice doesn’t waver.

“Mutta got an anxiety cat,” Even says. Isak can’t see his face at the moment, but it sounds like he’s working hard to keep his voice also carefully neutral. "She's been really good for him."

“I know,” Isak says. In a weird turn of events, he and Mutta had started getting friendly during Isak’s last year at Nissan, sometimes hanging out independently of Even. They’ve even upgraded to Facetiming every couple days in the wake of Mutta’s recent panic disorder diagnosis. Isak isn’t really sure how or why this relationship had started to bloom in the first place, really, but the two of them seem to just get each other. “That’s what got me thinking about it.”

Even scoffs. “I still can’t believe you’re stealing my friends. It’s a cute cat though.”

“She’s awesome. She totally peed on Adam, too,” Isak says, taking a moment to put down the sponge and look over his shoulder at Even, who’s watching him with a smile.

“Another good reason to get a cat,” Even replies, laughing. “Poor Adam.”

Isak takes the opportunity to finish washing the dishes and wipe down the counter. When he’s done, he turns around to grab the dishcloth still slung over Even’s shoulder to dry his hands. “I’m not saying we should do it right now, but maybe...we can talk about it more later?”

“Are we still talking about a cat?” Even asks gently, even though it’s clear he knows they aren’t, but almost like he’s giving Isak an out, just in case.

Isak shrugs, dishcloth now damp but still crumpled in his hands.

Even reaches over and takes it from. “Whenever you’re ready, okay?” he says, ducks his head a little to make sure Isak’s looking him in the eye.

“Okay,” Isak says, a gratitude welling in his chest he couldn’t put words to, even if he tried.

**seventeen.**

They’re walking home from the grocery store, hand in hand, a grocery bag slung over Even’s other arm. Isak’s backpack is weighed down with pantry staples and a large container of Even’s favourite flavour of ice cream. Even had been perplexed when Isak had reached for the Lime Cardamom when the Brown Butter Almond had been _right there_ , but Isak had just shrugged and said that ice cream was ice cream, and then stoically accepted it when Even had kissed him on the cheek and told him he was thoughtful.

(Even had then tried very hard not to make a big deal out of the relative grace with which Isak had accepted the compliment; tried very hard to keep his face from doing something complicated with his delight even as he felt his heart fit to burst.)

“In a parallel universe, we’re doing the exact same thing today, except you tried to shave off half your hair to have an undercut and wouldn’t let me help you fix it,” Isak announces suddenly, turning to look at Even. “But you’re very proud of it so I guess I don’t mind.”

Even thinks about this for a moment. “Does that version of you also not mind because that version of me is still very good at giving blowjobs?”

Isak shrugs. “I think that’s probably true for most of the universes. Can’t say for sure if it’s all of them though.”

“I think I’m _amazing_ at giving head in _every_ universe,” Even declares. He pauses. “Wait, why did I decide to shave off half my hair in this one other universe though?”

Isak’s face darkens. “Aesthetic,” he says like it’s a curse.

“That sounds bad,” Even says gravely, giving Isak’s hand a squeeze. “I’m glad we live here instead, then.”

**eighteen.**

Isak’s pretty sure he’s been awake for close to fifty hours due to back-to-back all-nighters when he fumbles with the door to the apartment, relieved that his last final exam’s done for the academic year. He can’t help but be a little jealous of Even for being done his evaluations last week and having spent the better part of this week chilling in the living room while Isak’s been feverishly cramming at the kitchen table. He’s ready to collapse into bed and play possum for the next twelve hours at a minimum.

Instead, he’s greeted by a shower of individual packets of lube and colourful foil-wrapped condoms like confetti raining over him as soon as he’s over the threshold.

“Congratulations!” Even yells, wearing a shit-eating grin and a dorky apron that’s streaked with some miscellaneous sauce. He raises his arms into the air, wooden spoon still in hand. “You’re done!”

Isak can’t help but grin in response, dropping his backpack and kicking off his shoes.”I’m done,” he agrees, mustering up as much exhausted enthusiasm as possible. “Are you cooking? It smells good.”

Even tries to wink, something he still can’t quite manage to do without opening his mouth wide, and Isak can’t figure out if he’s falling a little bit more in love with the ridiculous man standing in front of him or if he’s just that tired.

“We’re celebrating,” Even says, shooing Isak into the kitchen. “I made your favourite! And after we’re gonna have celebratory sex!”

Isak sags a little bit against Even. “I don’t know,“ he says. “I’ve been studying for two days straight. What are you going to do if I fall asleep on your dick?”

Even rubs a comforting hand over Isak’s back. “Be a little offended but also kind of impressed?”

“Okay, you know what, fuck it,” Isak says. “Let’s celebrate.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Isak says. He thinks about how he’s waited his entire life for someone who wants this life with him, the fact that it’s _Even_ , standing right here in front of him so unabashedly proud and delighted for him—who is he to pass off this opportunity here, now. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t say it out loud, like ninety three point eight percent sure, but from the way Even’s grin softens to something that’s almost fond, he thinks that maybe Even might just understand, that he feels the same way too.

**nineteen.**

They go to Oslo for the week of Isak’s birthday and almost end up missing the train back to Trondheim, making it just in time with thanks to Vilde’s impressively aggressive city driving, getting them from Eskild’s to the train station in record time.

It takes both Even and Isak about half an hour on the train to settle racing pulses after getting out of Vilde’s car, before Even can even think about rummaging through Isak’s backpack for a tangle of earbuds to plug into his phone and hand one end to Isak. Isak takes it gratefully, a little more colour back in his cheeks as they both sheepishly admit to each other that their lives had collectively flashed before their eyes.

It also sort of derails the conversation that Even had wanted to have: the two of them hadn’t had much time alone over the past week, and Even had wanted to broach the subject the first time they had found themselves alone. They’re about halfway back to Trondheim when Even tugs off his own earbud and nudges Isak, who shifts and then follows suit, giving Even his full attention.

Unfortunately, the road to hell is paved with the best intentions because suddenly, Even’s not sure if he’s brave enough to say what he wants to say, not yet.

“I wanted to ask you,” Even says, pleased to find that his voice is much steadier now, mostly recovered from what was probably a helpful but terrifying experience.

“Hmm?”

He sighs, realizing that he’s not going to be able to get the words out. So he mentally tables what he wants to bring up for now and says, instead, “We came up with a script idea this past week, Mikael and Elias and me. They want to come up in a couple weeks to work on it.”

Isak nods. “Of course! One of them will have to sleep on the floor if they don’t want to sleep together on the pull-out couch though, and if they don’t care that your new friends all keep crashing at our place and hooking up on it.”

Even raises an eyebrow, quietly thankful that Isak doesn’t seem to suspect anything amiss. “Pretty sure Jonas and Eva hooked up on it when they were visiting.”

Isak lowers his voice. “Yeah, pretty sure you and I have also done that and we have a _bed_ six metres away.”

“That wasn’t a hook-up!” Even lowers his voice to match Isak’s in volume. “We were _making love_.”

He watches in amusement as Isak tries to surreptitiously look around to make sure no one seems to be listening to them. Apparently his concerns must be satisfied because the next thing he hisses is, “Even, you choked me during sex on that pull-out couch.”

“Because you asked me to!"

“Because I asked you to,” Isak agrees, smiling.

"It was so romantic,” Even murmurs, trying not to look smug; he doesn’t think he succeeds. “I was a sex god that night."

“Sure, but my point still stands,” Isak says, settling back against Even.

“I’ll tell them they’ll have to spoon,” Even says, and tries not to feel like this was a missed opportunity.

(“So I actually wanted to talk to you about something else," Even says, later that evening, when they’re safely tucked back away in their haven of a flat in the middle of a FIFA rematch. Even’s already finding it easier to test the waters with the subject when he's sitting next to Isak instead of looking at him, surrounded by familiarity, and half-distracted in competition.

“Is this about the choking thing? It was great, I don’t think I ever came so hard in my entire life. I really learned something about myself that night. I would totally do it again,” Isak says in a breathless rush while mashing on his controller keys, probably oversharing because he's mostly focussed on what's happening on the screen.

“Noted,” Even says, filing that away for later, mentally marking it as both urgent and important. “But no, it’s not about that. It’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about on the train and then...didn’t.”

“So Mikael and Elias aren’t visiting?”

“No, they’re coming.”

Isak takes the opportunity to pause the game and turn to look at Even, giving him his full attention. “Okay. What is it then?” His mouth pulls a little into a worried frown. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m fine. I just…” Even lets out a huff of breath and looks at the ceiling. “I think we both should get tested. Like, at a health clinic. Soon.”

Isak doesn't answer immediately. And then, tentatively, “Did something happen?”

“No,” Even says firmly, watching Isak for a reaction. “Nothing happened.”

It only takes him a moment: “ _Oh_!" Isak says, and then suddenly it looks like he’s trying to fight down a spreading ear-to-ear grin that’s threatening to split his face. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Even says, smiling. “You trust me so completely. I think I owe it to us to do that too.”

And, because Isak never can seem to help himself, he asks, “Is this some weird, belated birthday gift?”

Even groans. “Again, I was trying to be romantic. Thank you for always ruining the moment.”

“I'm sorry," Isak says, not sounding very sorry at all. "I could make it up to you?"

"How?" Even asks, though he's ninety-six point three percent sure about what's going to come out of his boyfriend's mouth.

"Do you wanna choke me? Like, right now?” Isak suggests cheekily.

Even rolls his eyes, but takes the opportunity to turn off the Playstation and toss his controller aside anyway. He reaches over and pulls his boyfriend closer. “Who is that for, really?"

Isak leans in for a kiss, resting his forehead against Even’s. “Are you saying you don’t want to?”

“I am absolutely not saying that,” Even tells him, trying to sound indignant, though from this close, he’s not sure he manages.

“Wanna move to the bed?” Isak offers. “Away from the couch that Elias and or Mikael are gonna be sleeping on?”

“What they don’t know can’t hurt them,” Even says, and grins into another kiss.)

**twenty.**

They’re sitting on the grass in the little park near their apartment on a sunny afternoon. It had been a lazy morning featuring a low-key double date brunch with Sloan and Céline—who had started out shy but by the end of the meal was pontificating about her favourite new professional hockey player, some wonderkid of a teenager in Vancouver—and it’s going to be a quiet evening with no plans: the perfect kind of day. Even’s been trying to get into Kombucha so he’s clutching a Kombucha he seems to only mostly regret ordering. This is a journey that Isak refuses to go on with him, and he doesn’t regret his decision at all as he cheerfully necks a cold brew instead, slouched between Even’s legs.

With his free hand, Even pulls off Isak’s snapback, ignoring Isak’s protests, and musses up his hair. “Hey,” Even says suddenly. “Remember the song you told me about, that one about how cracks let light get in?”

“Yeah,” Isak says, distracted with trying to one-handedly tame back down Even’s handiwork. “What about it?”

“Do you know what kintsukuroi is?” Even asks.

“Yeah, of course.”

“What is it then?”

Isak groans. “Obviously I don’t actually know, I was trying to sound smart and impressive.” He sets down his mostly empty cup next to Even’s still-mostly-full Komboucha. “Are you going to tell me?”

Even laughs, pulls Isak closer to him. “It’s this type of Japanese art, where you take broken pottery and put it back together using like, liquid gold mostly, to hold it together. So you fix the broken thing but it also highlights the flaws and cracks. The idea is that the breaking and fixing are part of its beauty but also part of the object’s history.”

“That sounds nice,” Isak says, tugging at Even’s hand until their fingers are interlaced.

“It is.”

Isak thinks about this for a moment. “So I was wrong?”

“Not at all,” Even says. “Just another way to think about cracked parts, I guess. I was thinking about how the things you and I went through didn’t stop us from trying to be good people even though it hasn’t always been easy. I also think that the shit we’ve gone through sort of is a part of who we are and how we move through the world, which maybe isn’t a bad thing. How broken things can still be beautiful,” he finishes, an ironic twist to his voice as his wiggles spirit fingers at Isak.

“I don’t think you can say that what happened to us is the same though,” Isak points out; he can feel his face scrunching up a little. “That's not fair to you.”

“But that’s my point,” Even tells him. “It’s not better or worse or comparing our, I don’t know, trauma? Experiences? And going through it isn’t a gift, doesn’t feel like it, anyway, no matter what my grandma’s throw cushions say.”

“So...you think because when and after you go through it, if you can still let in light, that’s hope for being put back together?” Isak asks slowly, trying to get to the heart of what Even’s saying, really saying.

“Sort of, yeah. The light is kind of the gold, I guess,” Even says. Shrugs. “The light gets through the cracks, that’s what’s holding it together. And all that shit that happened? Making it through? And sort of...accepting that it was part of how we got here? That’s chill.”

“Really? All the shit? So it’s chill that we’re here because you decided to get into Komboucha even though we both know it tastes fucking horrible?” Isak snarks at him, and Even scoffs with mock outrage, trying to hug Isak into submission until they’re both laughing, knocking over the offending cup of drink so that it spills in the grass.

When their laugher finally peters out, Even doesn’t let go, still holding on tight. Isak’s quiet for a minute that stretches into two, tangling his fingers with Even’s, lost in thought.

“I think you’re right about the light and the gold because I don’t think you’re broken,” Isak says, finally, quietly. “I really don’t.”

“I don’t think you’re broken, either. I think we’re both going to be okay, separate and together,” Even says, dropping a kiss to the top of Isak’s head. “And I just wanted you to know that.”

**twenty-one.**

When the end of July comes around, they’re one year older and a smidge wiser: Even’s finally figured out how to recreate his dad’s breakfast torte as close as it’s ever going to get, and Isak’s finally bothered to make a friend or two in his program. The year in Trondheim hasn’t made either of them less lazy though, and they make the executive decision that moving is a pain in the ass to be avoided at all costs. This apartment is just fine because it’s _theirs_ (" _Home is wherever I’m with you_ ," Even had sung cheesily at Isak in his very best English; Isak had just rolled his eyes good-naturedly and shoved Even’s face away), so they decide to stay in the same place for the upcoming academic year.

One of the things that Even loves about Trondheim in the summer is how long the days last, that they’re so far north that he’s having a cigarette on the balcony at 22:17 and the sun hasn’t even started to set. He says as much to Isak, an arm wrapped around him as he turns his head and takes care not to exhale directly into Isak’s face; can’t help the feeling of vague déjà vu that seems to be flitting just out of reach. Isak just laughs and reminds him to remember this moment when it’s December and they’re getting less than five hours of sunlight every day.

“So resolutions for next year?” Even says.

Isak raises an eyebrow. “It’s _July_.”

“Yeah,” Even says.”But like. I’m about to embark on a new year with _you_.”

“We’re not making resolutions,” Isak says flatly. “We didn’t even make resolutions at New Year’s. You’re too spontaneous and I hate being accountable for things, remember?”

“I don’t care. I’m making a spontaneous resolution right now, I’m gonna quit smoking,” Even says, exhaling a cloud of cigarette smoke.

“Okay, you do that,” Isak says. “I’ll believe it when it happens.”

Even laughs, not actually offended because he knows that when he finally quits, Isak will be there with the Nicotine gum and patches, every step of the way. “What, you don’t think I can do it?”

Isak shrugs. “I think you can do anything you want to, even when it’s hard. I’ve seen that in action many times. That’s your superpower.”

“I thought you said being able to talk to old ladies was my superpower.”

“Not just old ladies, were you listening? They just like you the most. But you’re actually good at talking to pretty much _anyone_ ,” Isak says, matter-of-factly. “Plus you can have more than one superpower. You, Even Bech Næsheim, specifically, have many.”

“Like what else?” Even wants to know, putting out the remainder of his cigarette to give Isak his full, undivided attention.

“Making coffee. Dick jokes. That thing you do with your mouth,” Isak says, ticking off each item on his fingers. “Watching the same movie a hundred times and not getting bored of it.”

Even laughs again, relishes in the way it makes Isak smile. “Okay, okay. Well, what about you, then? Do you have a superpower?”

“Sure.”

“What is it?”

Isak winks. “Tricked you into falling in love with me, didn’t I?”

Even lets out a mock gasp, pretends to reel back and clutch his chest. “Was that a trick?”

“Who’s to say,” Isak says, like he’s playing along. “But if it helps, I happen to love you as well, independent of my superpower.”

“Maybe that should be your resolution, then,” Even muses, tapping a finger to his chin and pretending to think. “To tell me you love me more often.”

This time, it’s Isak feigning offence: “Pretty sure I tell you that all the time!”

“Yeah, but you could do it, like, three times a day.”

“You’d get tired of hearing it.”

“I’ll never get tired of hearing you tell me about how much you love me,” Even declares.

“You’re such a loser,” Isak tells him. “You’re lucky you have a nice dick.”

“Are you trying to make a dick joke?” Even says, delighted.

“I don’t know, is your dick a joke?”

Even lets out another outraged gasp. “You didn’t seem to think so last night when we were _making love_ ,” Even says, emphasizing the last part as lewdly as possible, a hand on Isak’s hip. “And before you ask, yes, I’m very romantic, and yes, you’re still the gay one, in case you were planning to try and check.”

“I guess you do know my life then,” Isak says, grinning, looping his arms over Even’s shoulders.

“I really do,” Even says and pulls Isak in closer.

“So pretty good year, hmm?” Isak asks, and he sounds fond.

“Not bad,” Even says, in the way that means _yes_. “Let’s do it again, okay?”

Isak smiles. “But even better?”

“But even better, yeah,” Even agrees, grinning.

[end]

**Author's Note:**

>  **specific cw:** drinking, smoking, recreational drug use. discussion of mental health issues (bipolar disorder, depiction of an anxiety attack, a conversation about panic disorders, allusion to a (canonical) suicide attempt). safe, sane, and consensual conversations about kink and sex between adults.
> 
> 01\. [here is a playlist for this story](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL7fbuCGPteolX1IDysXXiGcxyyCXlgAf4). it is 92.8% Carly Rae Jepsen songs, because of course it is.
> 
> 02\. endless thank yous to robi0688 (#1 beta) and gonetoarcadia (#1 bater) for your endless patience and critical eyes, and for reading this over despite a] not having watched the show and b] the document being named some reasonable facsimile of "here, have 15k of dick jokes lol." thanks for always being so encouraging of my nonsense. y'all the best and ily both v. much.
> 
> 03\. the title is also from hey rosetta!'s "kintsukuroi."
> 
> 04\. thanks, you, for reading. <3


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